


Where's My Cow?

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: ABDL, Age Regression, Alcohol, Daddy Play, Diapers, Emotional Catharasis, M/M, Pants wetting, Stress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 05:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15042242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Chekov has always had... unconventional ways of unwinding. One day, Kirk finds him.





	Where's My Cow?

**Author's Note:**

> ... yes, the title is a Pratchett reference.

It all started because of the teddy bear.

Well, no, okay, if you wanted to go back far enough, it started because Chekov used to wet the bed when he was a bit too old for it, on nights when he had tests or something similar.

He'd always been a bit tightly wound as a kid, and, well... it was easier to just buy some disposable underwear than do laundry every night before he had a test. 

Being the young prodigy probably hadn't helped either - he had been doing things way above his age, and that usually led to some... well, certain things, as the mind protested the sudden responsibility. 

And then he'd been going through puberty, and the things one does at that point in your life tend to leave some kind of... impression.

He liked to think at least some of his weirdness wasn't his own fault.

... well, it was his own fault in that he was the one who did it, but that was a different kettle of fish, wasn't it?

He just tried to do his own thing, and stay out of trouble.

Until there was that goddamn teddy bear.

* * * 

Chekov, at the end of his shift, found a giant teddy bear in front of the door to his quarters, and Kirk was standing there, looking sheepish.

"Captain?"

Chekov was tired, stressed, and his head hurt.

It had been a trying shift. 

"So I was... I was on shore leave," said the captain.

"Yes?"

"And I entered a contest, where there was obviously no chance of me winning."

"Right."

"Except I won it."

"Oh."

"And I needed to win it for... diplomatic reasons."

"Diplomatic reasons."

Chekov's tone was flat.

"Well," Kirk continued, "as you are the... youngest person on the bridge, I thought you might appreciate it."

"Right," said Chekov.

Was he being insulted?

... did he care?

All he wanted to do was take a shower and lie in his bed.

Was he the youngest person on the bridge, for that matter?

He was twenty.

Was twenty considered that young?

Well, fuck it.

"Sorry," said the Captain, and he looked nervous.

"It's fine," said Chekov. "Thank you, Captain. I'm sure I'll find someone to enjoy it."

The Captain grinned, and he patted Chekov on the shoulder.

"Good man," he told Chekov.

Chekov snorted, and looked at the teddy bear.

Even sitting down, it was taller than he was.

It was going to be a struggle to get it into his room.

Oh well.

He grabbed it around the middle, and he dragged it into his quarters. 

"Good night, Captain," Chekov said.

"Good night, Chekov," said the Captain. 

* * *

So now there was a giant teddy bear, just... sitting in Chekov's room, taking up the whole of one corner.

Not that he was going to complain too hard.

It was very soft.

He would have been curious about sleeping with it, except it was so big Chekov would have to sleep _on_ it, and... no.

But this was... he was feeling some sort of something.

And that night, he wet the bed.

So back to the disposable underwear - he ordered it from the replicator, surreptitiously, embarrassed, but fuck it.

There was some kind of malfunction, and instead of the usual medical ones, these were printed with cute little animals, but... fuck it.

He just needed something to keep him from peeing the bed, until he stopped being so anxious.

He taped himself in the next night, and he slept like the dead. 

He didn't exactly... wake up dry, but at least when he woke up wet, the diaper was the only thing that was wet, and that was easy enough to deal with. 

* * * 

And so it went.

Chekov would diaper himself up, maybe two or three nights a week, when he was especially stressed out, and he'd sleep well.

He probably should have gone to Bones about it, but... well, this was a thing he'd had his whole life. 

Why start worrying now?

* * * 

He'd been diapering himself up every couple of nights when he realized he'd started to suck his thumb.

He didn't do it consciously - he didn't even realize he was doing it that much, until Sulu of all people pointed it out. 

* * *

"Chekov," said Sulu, whent he two of them were at their stations, fingers moving busily along their consoles, "what happened to your thumb?"

"Hm?"

Chekov was jerked out of his calculations, and he looked over at Sulu, confused.

"You've got a little... divot," said Sulu, and he indicated Chekov's thumb.

Chekov looked down on it, and sure enough, there was a little mark on it. 

"Oh. Must have banged it against something."

Sulu grinned, just a bit. 

"Have you been sucking your thumb?"

"What? No!"

Chekov was blushing so hard that he thought he might pass out.

Oh god.

He had been waking up with his thumb in his mouth, but... that was no big deal. 

Everyone ended up with a bit of an oral fixation at some point in their life, right?

"My daughter has the same thing," said Sulu, and his face turned fond, the way he always did when he talked about his family. 

"Oh," said Chekov. "No, no, I'm fine."

"Right," said Sulu, and then he shot Chekov a concerned look. "I'm sorry. I've... you know, the joke going around."

"Which joke going around?"

"Oh. That... that you're the baby of the bridge," said Sulu.

"Oh," said Chekov. 

Then he grinned.

He _was_ the youngest person on the bridge - not much he could do about that.

He was used to being the youngest person in the room - he wasn't going to be too offended by it. 

"It's obviously not true," Sulu added quickly - he looked downright _nervous_ , which was a surprise - Sulu usually came across as nigh unflappable. 

Chekov shrugged again.

"I'm okay with it," he told Sulu, "but I haven't been sucking my thumb."

"Thanks good," said Sulu. "That would be bad for your teeth."

"Right," said Chekov, and he gave Sulu a slightly nervous smile.

Sulu smiled back. 

And then it was back to work, because... well, they had work to do. 

Chekov didn't think much of it again, until he was back inside of his own quarters, at which point he flopped back onto his bed... and immediately realized he wanted to suck his thumb.

Hmm.

Maybe this was a bit more complicated than he thought it was.

Okay.

Hmm.

* * * 

Chekov replicated a pacifier.

He replicated a pacifier, because that wouldn't leave any evidence, and then, after the first night, replicated a pacifier clip to go with it.

It helped him sleep.

On his next shore leave, he passed a store selling footed pajamas for adults, and he was inside of it, getting himself a set before he had a chance to think about it.

It was light blue, covered in little stars. 

And okay, maybe it was a little bit embarrassing, the first time he zipped himself into them, but... wow.

It was so... comforting.

It was like being small again.

He could get used to it.

The first night he slept in his footie pajamas, diapered up, with the pacifier... he woke up wet and hard, embarrassed, but not necessarily in a bad way.

... at that point, he ended up doing some research into this stuff, because if he was going to do something, he was going to do it right.

And... well.

Well.

It was a thing.

A subculture.

And he... was going to enjoy himself, because fuck it. 

* * *

So Chekov amassed some toys, and Chekov got more comfortable with... himself.

He liked being the baby. 

He liked being the youngest.

He liked the idea of being taken care of.

He liked this private time by himself, with his bear, diapered up, sucking a pacifier, playing with toys.

He was always the very picture of professionalism when he was working, and it wasn't as if he needed to do this kind of thing that often.

Sometimes, he could go over a month without any Little time.

But when he was especially stressed... well, it helped.

It helped so much. 

And then, one night, the captain was feeling personable, and it all went _weird_.

* * *

It was a hard mission.

Chekov didn't want to think about it too much.

There was a lot of death, and a lot of general unpleasantness. 

Chekov had survived, but a few people who he had a nodding acquaintance with had died.

And Chekov had gone to the memorial, and he had grieved a bit, and then he had gone to bed, undiapered, and pissed the bed so badly that he needed to change his mattress.

The whole bridge crew had been a bit... subdued for a bit, and Chekov had more or less kept to himself.

He was looking forward to the chance to be in his own room, to diaper up and play with his blocks and maybe cry a bit. 

He was... he was very much looking forward to that. 

By the time his shift was over, his shoulders were around his ears, and he was about ready to throw a proper tantrum.

He wanted to suck on his pacifer, to cuddle his giant teddy bear, to watch a kiddy show, to read a picture book, to eat some of the food of his youth.

When he got back to his room, he almost sobbed with relief.

He was so damn tired. 

Maybe... maybe he needed to skip the diapering and whatnot, and just go to sleep.

... but no, the last time he'd done that, he'd pissed the bed.

Okay.

He could do this.

* * * 

Chekov diapered himself - they were thick diapers, thick enough that he couldn't entirely close his legs. 

He pulled on his footie pajamas, and turned down the temperature in his room, until it felt a little bit like his childhood bedroom in the depths of winter.

He sighed, wrapping himself up in a blanket, leaning against the teddy bear, sucking on his pacifier.

He had a whole fun evening planned - he was going to watch a movie, build a tower, and stay diapered until he had to get up for his next shift.

He was going to eat cookies, and he was going to drink milk from a bottle, and he was going to go as Little as he had ever gone.

And then he was going to sleep like the dead.

He sighed, relaxing into the soft, crinkly plastic of the diaper, the soft, fluffy fabric of his footie pajamas.

And then... there was a knock on the door.

He stared at it, unbelieving. 

_What_?

Who was visiting him?

Who would be knocking at his door.

He could pretend that he wasn't here.

"Ensign Chekov," called the voice, and Chekov groaned, covering his face with both hands.

It was the Captain.

Of course it was the Captain. 

The one person Chekov couldn't really bar from entry.

Okay.

He took his pacifier clip off of the footies, and considered changing really quick.

... no, it had taken too long to put the diaper on. 

The diaper wasn't too obvious, was it?

He sighed, and he tried to look as professional as one can look, while wearing footed pajamas with little sleepy stars on them.

He opened his door.

“Captain?”

“Chekov, I was wondering….”

Kirk trailed off.

He was looking Chekov up and down, and his expression was a bit… startled.

“Hi,” said Chekov, and he blushed.

He wasn’t going to explain anything. He was just going to… stand here. 

Okay.

“Am I… interrupting something?”

Kirk looked genuinely nonplussed. 

“I was… having a night in,” said Chekov.

Yes, he was definitely blushing really hard.

Okay.

He could do this.

He could.

He was going to stop blushing.

Now.

Right now. 

… it wasn’t working, but at least he could hold on to the hope. 

Okay. 

“I see that,” said the Captain. “Why is it so cold?”

“When I am… especially stressed,” said Chekov, “I like to make my room cold, and to wear cuddly pajamas and watch movies from when I was a small child.”

That _was_ true! 

It was just… he was leaving some elements out.

Oh god, what if Kirk noticed the diaper?

Hopefully, he wouldn’t.

Okay.

He could do this.

“That sounds like a good coping method,” said Kirk. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Chekov opened his mouth to invite Kirk to come keep him company - the image of Kirk in diapers came to his head, the both of them sitting on the floor of his quarters, playing blocks together.

But no.

That would be… inappropriate.

Although oh wow, Chekov’s cock was… it was definitely hard now.

Welp. 

“Thank you, Captain,” said Chekov.

“Have a good relaxation,” said the Captain, and he patted Chekov on the shoulder again, then went off.

Chekov closed his door, and he blushed. 

Well.

He could masturbate.

He could also just… relax.

He wanted to lean against his teddy bear and let the softness of it wrap around him, to feel the warmth of it. 

He wanted to not think about his crewmates dying.

So he sighed, and he went back to his blocks. 

* * * 

Chekov fell asleep.

He slept like the dead, curled up into the big bear, and when he woke up, his head hurt.

He had been crying.

He hadn’t peed himself, at least - he didn’t even need to pee, which was probably a sign that he needed to drink more water.

It was… an ungodly hour at night, and he wasn’t sleepy anymore.

If anything, he was hungry.

Hmm.

He made his way to his replicator, still sleepy, and he blinked at it, trying to get his mind in some kind of working order.

“Oatmeal raisin cookies,” he told the replicator.

It flashed, and then he was given a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

Chekov frowned. 

“No. Oatmeal raisin.”

It was oatmeal chocolate chip this time.

Still no good.

“Oatmeal raisin cookies,” Chekov said, firmly, trying to keep his accent as neutral as possible.

Oatmeal chocolate chip… with walnuts.

Chekov made an annoyed noise.

If he wanted to get proper oatmeal raisin cookies… he could probably find them in the rec room - that replicator usually worked a lot better than the ones in the crew’s own rooms.

Okay.

He’d just have to… hmm.

* * *

It was not unknown for crewmembers to wander the halls in their pajamas especially at this time of night.

And okay, maybe Chekov was a little reckless due to how tired he was, but who was going to judge him for this, right?

It wasn’t like he was obviously diapered, unless you knew what you were looking for. 

And anyway, who would be looking for that?

The whole “adult footie pajamas” thing was a bit of a fad at present anyway, so he was just… going to act like this was normal. 

Okay.

He could do this.

Chekov padded out into the corridor.

* * *

Nobody gave him a second look.

Everyone was tired and not paying much attention to anything, so he was more or less left alone.

He was two thirds asleep anyway, when he hit the rec room, and there… was the Captain, sitting at a table by himself, drinking from a small glass, a very large, half empty bottle in front of him.

“Chekov,” said the Captain, when their eyes met, and the Captain looked… almost manic. 

“Hello, Captain,” said Chekov.

Oh god.

He was… visibly Little.

He should have put on normal pajamas.

The rec room was dim and empty - the star fields wheeled alongside them.

“Come join me, Mr. Chekov,” said the Captain.

“Thank you, Captain, but I’m just here to get some cookies.”

Chekov indicated the replicator, and then he spoke into it - “ _Oatmeal raisin._ ”

And lo, he was rewarded with his oatmeal raisin cookies.

Finally!

“Please,” said the Captain, “call me Jim.”

Chekov paused.

This was… a level of familiarity he wasn’t entirely sure he was comfortable with.

But okay.

“Okay… Jim.”

“How about I make you a white Russian? Can’t have cookies without milk!” 

Chekov blushed, but he was grinning a bit as well.

“You know, the white Russian does not, in fact, originate in Russia.”

“No?”

“No - they just call it Russian because of the vodka.”

“You know,” said Kirk, and he was resting his elbows on the table, his expression downright _nostalgic_ , “I’m a bit sad that your accent isn’t as thick.”

“Hm?”

“It was cute, when you had the thicker accent and couldn’t get your “v”s right. You’ve still got it, but… not the same.” 

Chekov stood there, a plate of cookies in hand, and then he gave a mental shrug.

So the Captain wanted some company.

It had been a rough day.

He could spare a few minutes.

He was more confident that he wasn’t obviously diapered, as well.

So he sat down, carefully, to minimize the crinkling, and he took a bite of his cookie.

“So you don’t want a white Russian?”

“I’m… not so much in the right state of mind for alcohol,” said Chekov, and he was blushing, just a little bit.

He didn’t usually drink when he was LIttle.

“I can tell,” said Kirk, and he was leering, just a bit.

… why was Chekov blushing harder.

“What are you drinking?”

“Bourbon,” said Kirk, and he offered Chekov the glass.

Chekov gave it a sniff and wrinkled his nose.

“Not for you, then?”

Jim looked amused.

Chekov blushed.

“You know, you’re a real genius.”

Jim was just… saying it, as if that was a thing you said to people.

Chekov shrugged, uncomfortable.

It was always… awkward to have these conversations.

Yes, he was very smart in regards to some stuff.

Other stuff… well, not so much.

It was one of those complicated things.

“To end up as an ensign, at seventeen,” Jim continued, “that is _impressive_.”

Chekov took a bite of a cookie, lacking anything else to do.

“Do you miss being able to do… child typical things?”

“.. sir?”

“You know,” said Kirk. “Did you get to be a kid?”

“Oh, certainly,” said Chekov. “I had a wonderful childhood.”

“Do you ever miss it?”

Jim stretched, and then he was looking out at the stars - his profile was as elegant as ever, and some of the dim light picked up on the stubble already spreading across his jaw.

Chekov had a pang of jealousy - he still couldn’t grow much of a beard, no matter how hard he tried.

“Miss what?”

“Being a kid,” said Jim. “When I was young, I just liked to… mess around.”

Chekov shrugged.

“I find ways to be happy,” he said. 

“Like freezing your balls off and wearing fluffy pajamas?”

Chekov was blushing.

“That can be part of the fun, yes,” said Chekov. 

“Chekov,” said Jim. 

“If I am going to be using your familiar name,” said Chekov, before his brain could catch up to his mouth, “you should call me by mine.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. 

“Pasha,” said Chekov. 

“Pasha?”

“It’s… it’s a comfortable name,” said Chekov. “It’s… it’s a Russian thing.”

“A Russian thing?”

“Yes.”

And then Chekov tried to explain Russian naming conventions, and Russian diminutives. 

He had gone through four cookies, by the time he had finished. 

Jim had snagged a cookie as well.

“So… I could call you Pasha, because you’re younger than me?”

“And, theoretically, because you’re my superior officer,” said Chekov, around a mouthful of cookie. “Although I would request you not do it on the bridge. I already feel like people don’t take me very seriously.”

“The whole baby of the bridge thing?”

Chekov nodded.

“If it bothers you -”

“Oh, it doesn’t bother me,” Chekov said quickly. “I’m used to it.”

“You like being the baby?”

Jim was looking him up and down, and his expression could be read as… lecherous.

Chekov was blushing, and he was licking his lips. 

“... it’s, um.. It’s nice,” mumbled Chekov. 

“Is that why you like to look so cute?”

… Jim was pretty perceptive, for someone who’d had that much bourbon and seemed to be as calm as he’d ever seen. 

“I mean,” Chekov mumbled, “cuteness is relative.”

“You look like you should be tucked into bed with a bedtime story,” said Jim, and yeah, he was looking… mournful.

“That would be nice,” Chekov admitted.

“Would you like me to?”

“Um.”

And then Jim looked slightly stricken. 

“Sorry,” he said. 

“Why?”

“Because… I’m overstepping.”

Chekov shrugged.

“You’re not currently being the Captain,” he told Jim. “I’m not your ensign. I’m just me.”

“I’d say that you’re awfully cute right now,” said Jim, and Jim leaned in, and he was… putting a hand on Chekov’s cheek. 

“Thank you,” said Chekov.

He was blushing.

“Can I put you to bed, Pasha?”

… Jim’s breath smelled like bourbon, but he didn’t look drunk.

“If you’re… sure,” said Chekov, and he licked his lips.

“I am,” said Jim, and he stood up.

He was only wobbling a little bit, and then he steadied himself, and he smiled at Chekov.

Chekov, still holding his plate of cookies, smiled back, a bit nervous.

“C’mon,” said Jim, and he held the bottle of bourbon in one hand, and he held his hand out for Chekov to take it. 

Chekov took it. 

* * *

It was late enough (and this deck was empty enough) that they didn’t encounter anyone.

Thank fuck.

When they both walked into Chekov’s quarters, Jim looked around, and he smiled.

“You kept the bear,” he said, and his voice was sweet.

“I couldn’t think of what else to do with it,” Chekov admitted.

“Does it have a name yet?”

“No,” said Chekov. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

They both stood in Chekov’s bedroom awkwardly, for almost a full minute.

Then JIm sat on the bed, putting his bottle of bourbon down on the bedside table, and he took his shoes off.

He sighed, and then he looked Chekov up and down. 

He was blushing, and he was smiling, just a bit. 

“Are you dry?”

“W-what?”

“Dry. Are you dry?”

“Um,” said Chekov. “Captain -”

“Call me JIm.”

“Jim, I….” 

“Are you dry?”

Chekov nodded.

“Well,” said Jim, “you should… that is… very good.” 

Chekov blushed. 

“Did you brush your teeth?”

Chekov shook his head.

“Are you going to do it?”

Chekov nodded, still blushing. 

“I, uh… I need to… do other stuff.”

“What kind of other stuff?”

Chekov was blushing very hard.

“At present, it is… it is difficult to, uh… that is….”

Chekov was rubbing his hands together, and trying to find a way to say “I am too horny to pee,” without actually saying it to his Captain. 

And then Kirk’s hand was on Chekov’s shoulder, and he was looking into Chekov’s eyes.

“How about you let me take care of you, Pasha?”

“Yes, sir,” said Chekov. 

He couldn’t believe this was happening. 

_Fuck_.

But Kirk was just… taking him by the hand, leading him to the bathroom, and... handing Chekov the toothbrush.

“You need to wet it,” Kirk said, his voice quiet.

“Yes, sir,” said Chekov.

“You don’t have to keep calling me “sir,” Pasha,” said Kirk, and he was looking down at Chekov, his expression… well, his expression was intense.

His breath still smelled like bourbon.

“It makes… me feel better, sir,” said Chekov. 

“Well,” said Kirk, “if you insist.”

And then he was… wetting Chekov’s toothbrush, and putting a drop of toothpaste on it. “Are you going to brush your teeth?”

“Yes, sir,” said Chekov. 

… at least his erection was going down, wilting from terror or nerves or something. 

Maybe he was thinking too deeply into this.

Kirk was known for his… various amorous adventures.

As it were.

And then the Captain was handing Chekov the toothbrush, and Chekov was just… brushing his teeth. 

“Make sure you get the ones in the back,” said the Captain.

“Yes, sir,” said Chekov, around the toothpaste.

He spat it out, took a mouthful of water, and spat it out.

And then… he was making eye contact, in the mirror.

“Do you usually pee before you go to bed?”

Jim’s voice was right in Chekov’s ear, and Chekov was shivering.

Kirk was… Kirk’s hands were on his belly, and Kirk’s chin was on Chekov’s shoulder, and they were both looking in the mirror.

Chekov was going to get hard again, if he wasn’t careful.

Oh boy.

Okay.

“Yeah,” Chekov said, his voice very quiet.

“Why don’t you go?”

“I’ve never had to, uh, do it in front of someone else,” said Chekov, and he cleared his throat.

“You were in the academy,” said Kirk, and he was pressing on Chekov’s stomach now, “you had to pee in front of other people.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s… different.”

“Is it?”

More pushing, and Chekov grunted. 

That was uncomfortable.

Kirk - it felt weird to call him Jim, right here and now - was pushing down on his bladder, and Chekov was… Chekov was peeing. 

HIs bladder let go, and he was just… letting go into the diaper, which took it all in, swelling up.

“Did you go?”

Kirk’s voice was quiet, and his breath still smelled like bourbon.

Chekov nodded. 

“How about… I put you in a new one?”

Chekov cleared his throat.

“If you’d, uh… if you’d like?”

“Sure,” Chekov said weakly. “I mean, uh, if you’d… if you’d like.”

And Kirk… kissed him on the cheek.

That was unexpected.

Um.

Chekov turned around, and he blushed, looking over at Kirk.

“Okay,” said Kirk, and then he was smiling a bit. “Okay… I haven’t done this in a while. Where are your, uh… supplies?”

“I’ll… I’ll get them,” Chekov said, and he was walking… well, okay, he was waddling. 

The diaper was… well, it was thick.

Thick enough that he couldn't’ close his legs. 

He had drunk a lot of water.

And the Captain was watching him, and then he was reaching into the cabinet near his bed, where he kept the powder, wipes, and diapers.

“I can… I usually do it while standing up,” Chekov mumbled, and he was licking his lips. “I, uh, I use the wall to….”

And then Kirk was covering Chekov’s mouth with one finger.

“Shhh,” said Kirk. “Let me take care of you.”

There was something intense in his expression.

“O… okay,” said Chekov, and he licked his lips. 

Maybe Kirk needed this as badly as he had said he did. 

Huh.

And then Kirk was… grabbing the zipper of the footies, and pulling them down.

There was a draft of cool air across Chekov’s belly, and he remembered how cold he’d kept it in here.

And… Kirk was pushing it off of his shoulders, was helping him step out of it, and wow, this was… embarrassing.

He was in just a diaper - a _wet_ diaper, and he was being laid back onto the bed.

“It’s been a while since I did this,” said Kirk, and he sounded amused, as he carefully untaped the diaper, and then he was pushing it down, and there was a cool rag wiping his cock, his balls, around his thighs, his ass.

Chekov was covering his face with both hands, and he was blushing, blushing so hard that his ears were hot, and then he was… oh.

He was getting hard again, and he was… he uncovered his face enough to peek out at Kirk.

“HI,” said the Captain, and he smiled at Chekov. 

“This is really weird,” said Chekov.

Kirk paused in his powdering. 

“Does that mean you want me to stop?”

“... no,” said Chekov. “But, uh… maybe next time put down a towel.”

“Oh. Right.”

Kirk laughed, sheepish. 

“It’s okay,” Chekov said quickly.

“Thank you, Pasha,” said Kirk, and Chekov’s cock twitched at the familiar nickname. “Lift your hips?”

“Right.”

And then there was another diaper under Chekov, and he was… he was being put on it, and he was spreading his legs, as Kirk stroke his cock, gently, with a wipe. 

“There we go,” said Kirk, as Chekov’s hips rolled up, into it. “How’s that?”

“It’s… it’s good,” Chekov mumbled. “Please. Jim, please…. Papa, please….”

And then Chekov realized what he said, and he covered his mouth with both hands.

… oops.

“Papa?”

Kirk looked amused.

“... sorry,” said Chekov, and he was blushing.

“Well,” said Kirk, and he looked amused, “if you want to call me Papa, you can call me Papa.”

“Thank you,” said Chekov. “Thank you, Papa.”

He was sucking his thumb. 

“Do you want your papeesh?”

“... papeesh?”

Chekov squinted at him.

“Pacifier?”

“Oh,” said Chekov. “Um.”

“It’s easier on your thumb,” said Kirk, “and I can see it on your bedside table.”

… he’d been that lazy about it?

Oops.

“There we go,” said Kirk, making a soothing noise, and he slid the nipple into Chekov’s mouth. 

Chekov sucked on it, and he sighed, the clip ticklish against his chest.

And then… Kirk was dusting him with powder, and then he was… taping Chekov in?!

“Aren’t you gonna let me -”

The pacifier fell out of Chekov’s mouth, and Kirk put it back in.

“Good boy,” said KIrk, and then he was helping Chekov sit up, and then he was… helping Chekov back into the footies, and Chekov was hard in the diaper, and it was… oh god. 

He was being zipped up again, and then Kirk was kissing him on the forehead.

“There we go,” said Kirk, and he patted Chekov on the backside. “I said I’d read you a story, didn’t I?”

“... yes,” mumbled Chekov. 

“Do you have a story?”

“I, uh, I don’t,” said Chekov. 

“How about you get in bed, and I’ll get rid of that wet thing.”

“O… okay,” said Chekov. 

This was all very… it was almost overwhelming.

He saw Kirk take another swig of bourbon - not much of it, but enough to bring the scent back up.

Kirk’s shoulders were relaxing, as he threw out the wet diaper, the went to wash his own hands. 

He came back, and then he was… turning down the lights.

“Would you like a story from when I was a little kid?”

“Okay,” said Chekov, and he kept sucking on his pacifier. 

And then Kirk went to sit next to Chekov, leaning back onto the pillows, and he had a data tablet open on his lap.

There was a children’s book open on it.

It had a picture of a cow.

He pulled Chekov closer, so that they were hip to hip, and Chekov leaned his head on Kirk’s shoulder.

He was finally starting to relax - he hadn’t realized… well, all of what this was.

All of the everything.

The mission, the… everything.

“Where’s my cow,” read Kirk. “Is that my cow? It goes neigh. It is a horse. No, that is not my cow!”

Chekov let the words run over him, his eyes sliding shut.

Kirk had a nice voice, and it was well suited for reading stories.

He was rubbing Chekov’s head, gently, and Chekov was almost asleep, when antoehr line was read. 

“Where’s my cow? Is that my cow? It goes ‘woof woof!’ It is a dog! No, that is not my cow.”

“No,” said Chekov suddenly.

“No?”

Kirk sounded amused. 

“No. That’s not what dogs say.”

Chekov’s pacifier fell out of his mouth, to thump against his chest.

“No? What do dogs say?”

“Gav,” said Chekov. “In Russia, they say gav.”

“Did I get the other animal noises wrong, too?”

Chekov yawned, and he shrugged. 

“I wasn’t paying much attention,” he admitted. 

“Are you just sleepy?”

“Yeah,” said Chekov, and he yawned, wide enough that his jaw cracked. “Sleepy. And… other things.”

“What kind of other things?”

Kirk still sounded amused.

“Papa,” said Chekov, and he squirmed. 

How was he going to put this?

“Hmm?”

Kirk still sounded amused.

“I want to… I want….”

And then Chekov… ran out of ideas, and grabbed KIrk’s hand, pressing it over the crotch of his diaper.

KIrk laughed - actually _laughed_.

“You’re more direct like this, you know that?”

Chekov blushed, but he was smiling, just a bit.

Kirk squeezed him, through the diaper, through the footies, and he was rolling his hips, grinding them into Kirk’s hand.

And then.. Kirk was putting the book to the side, and he was pulling Chekov into his lap, so that they were crotch to crotch, chest to chest.

And he was unzipping Chekov’s footies, and they were grinding against each other.

“Be a good boy for your Papa,” said Kirk, and he kissed Chekov, a soft, wet kiss, and his fingers were in Chekov’s hair.

Chekov sighed, and he ground forward.

He was… he was too worked up for his own good.

It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten off in a diaper, but… someone else touching him like this, let alone _Kirk_....

And then he was being jerked off through a diaper, and Chekov was whining, squirming, grinding harder. 

“You feel so good,” Chekov mumbled. “Please. Please, please, please, please….”

“Please?” Kirk sounded almost like he was teasing. 

“Please,” Chekov said again.

… he’d had sex before.

He wanted to have _more_ of it, admittedly, but he always felt a bit too awkward most of the time.

And here he was, in sleepy star footie pajamas, humping his Captain’s hand through a thick diaper.

Um.

The ridiculousness of it was enough to make him grin a little bit, and then Kirk did… something with his hand, and it was… curving around Chekov’s shaft, and it was… it was enough to make Chekov roll his hips even harder, and he was panting, his forehead against Kirk’s, and they were kissing. 

It was awkward kissing - Kirk tasted like bourbon, and Kirk was equally enthusiastic, but Chekov was mainly used to being the one in charge of kissing, and Kirk was trying to dominate the kiss, and Chekov let it happen, let Kirk roll them both over, and then Kirk was shoving his own pants down, and he was straddling Chekov, and they were grinding against each other, and Kirk’s cock was hard and pressing against the diaper. 

“Oh,” Chekov said thickly, and he stared up into Kirk’s big blue eyes.

And they were… kissing again, and it was all a mess of sweat, of the cool air on Chekov’s belly, and then there was KIrk’s soft belly (Kirk was already getting a bit a little soft around the middle, not that Chekov was going to complain too hard, although some people made a few comments about it), and then they were… oh… god….

Chekov came in the diaper, his hips jerking forward, and it was… embarrassing, far too embarrassing, but Kirk was… looking at him thoughtfully.

“Papa,” Chekov blurted out, “Papa, can you… fuck my face?”

Where had _that_ come from?

Chekov had sucked cock before, but it had been a bit less… charged.

There was a difference between sucking cock with a guy who you met at a bar, and sucking your Captain’s cock. 

Kirk looked surprised. 

“You want to suck my cock?”

“Yeah. Sit on my chest, and... use my mouth. Please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please, Papa, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well… okay,” said Kirk. 

He seemed to be horny enough to not be thinking.

And then… Kirk was climbing up Chekov’s body, was resting on Chekov’s chest, and his cock was in Chekov’s mouth.

“Are you… fuck… are you oh my… are you sure?”

Chekov was sucking cock.

It was a thick, heavy weight on his tongue, and it was salty and hot, as he sucked, drooling down his chin, and then Kirk was beginning to roll his hips. Shallowly thrusting into Chekov’s mouth. 

“Good boy, Pasha, you feel so good… you’re… oh… my….”

And his cock was flexing inside of Chekov’s mouth, as Kirk rolled his hips.

Chekov just… sucked.

He lost tme, just sucked and sucked, listening to the sweet sounds of Kirks’ moans, and it all blended together, until he was just… here, sucking, drooling, and there was cum on his tongue, cum on his lips, and Kirk was pulling back, cumming across Chekov’s face.

“There we go… good boy. Good boy, Pasha.”

Chekov was shuddering, looking up at Kirk.

He was… his heart was too full, or his head, or something.

Tears were dripping down his face, and then he was… he was crying.

He was crying very hard.

He didn’t even know why he was crying, except that Kirk was sliding down, and then he was being held, and it smelled like bourbon, like cum, it was warm, and Kirk was making soothing noises.

“I’m sorry,” Kirk said, and he sounded sad,in and of itself. “I’m sorry.”

And the two of them were holding on to each other, being people, 

“It’s okay,” KIrk said again, and he kissed Chekov’s forehead. 

Then he looked sheepish. 

“... Pasha?”

“Mmm?”

Chekov sat up, rubbing his eyes, licking his lip, then making a face.

His mouth tasted like cum, which was… unpleasant. 

“Can I… can I stay with you?”

Kirk looked at Chekov, and he looked… nervous. 

Chekov looked at Kirk, and he smiled. 

“Do you want me to, uh… to put you in one too?”

Kirk blushed, shrugged, looked torn.

“Give me another few bourbons and ask me again.” 

Chekov snorted. 

“Get me some water, and I’ll let you play with my trains,” he told Kirk, his voice teasing.

And Kirk… blushed, but he was grinning.

“Sounds like a plan.”

**Author's Note:**

> Credit where credit is due - "No cookies without milk" comes from my dear Fashnik. Thanks for that, babe. <3


End file.
